


Rage by Any Other Name

by theFateofYou



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: All That Remains Quest, All that Remains Quest spoilers, Angst, Angst and Feels, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Family Feels, Hawke Family Feels, Hawke Has Issues, Killer's Lair spoilers, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Magic, Make the audience cry, Minor Romance, Minor Varric/hawke, Possible Arson, Red-Purple Hawke, Serial Killer, Shades, Spoilers, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend, Varric's POV, Violence, rogue hawke - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-07 16:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15222902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theFateofYou/pseuds/theFateofYou
Summary: Tis a well known fact that the Champion of Kirkwall has suffered more loss than most. Watched her family pass one after the other. Bedrooms slowly being filled with the ghosts of her loved ones. She has cried, felt numb, broken but the loss of her family drives her to far past that. Luckily, a handsome dwarf is willing to help.





	Rage by Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> I do not think I've written a piece without angst thus far. I suppose that is the nature of Dragon Age though. On a better note, I'm open to requests now so send me a message! I love inspiration.

Hawke rarely became angry. It was a well known fact from Hightown tables to the scummy blades of Darktown. Whether a joke, or a threat, the Champion used them in tandem with her seemingly endless patience. A snubbed noble, a racist barmaid; they all received the signature smirk and watched a sharpened blade slide into the table as if it was butter. Her eyes set firm on the choice they had, to walk away or to die. Most picked the former these days, Hawke's reputation with the Qunari Invasion caused these scrabblers to give her a wide berth. Varric's tales of her heroism and skill helped affirm the fear they held for her. Yet, despite all her bravado and quick to raise bow, none had seen Hawke truly angry. No one wanted to. Imagine the Champion, who single-handedly stopped the Qunari without so much a raised voice. Now imagine her angry. Varric would say he could only imagine as well, but it was far from the truth.

But a brave face and sharp blade is not enough, and they cannot protect everyone. Hawke learned this long before she earned her title. A serial killer, an insane mage, and that final fate down below the city. When Hawke had discovered her mother was missing, and then the flowers, it all clicked. A mad chase throughout the city, every nook and cranny til she found a trail of blood. The sticky, red patches growing in size til she found her way down into the underground 'lair' of the beast. She saw the mage first, Quentin. He spoke like a mad man, something Varric would call a cliche for books. Wide gestures, high pitched laughs, and his body trembled when he mentioned his love. His performance was so grandiose that Hawke didn't notice the veiled figure in the chair immediately. Her eyes dragged over the velvet lining of the back, the veiled, grey hair that peeked up; only slightly taller than the carved wood. Her stomach dropped like a lead weight, Hawke knew the truth already. The moment she saw the feminine figure she knew, but by the Maker she wanted to deny it. Another woman, another person, any other person...please.

It didn't walk like her mother. It shambled, one leg seemed to be numb and dragged behind it. It didn't smile like mother, with dimples in her cheeks every time Hawke came home. It was slack jawed, wide eyed but she _knew_ those eyes, that jaw. The small, nearly invisible scar next to her nose from the time she had accidentally headbutted her when she was little. The laughter, and bravado of Quentin became white noise; blended in with Merrill's gasp and the soft growl of her white-haired companion. It was simply Hawke, and the monstrosity that was her mother and yet, not her mother. 

She left the demons to her friends. Shades, and rage, and despair could easily be handled by her friends. Quentin was the sole focus in her vision, the mad mage who cackled as he pulled open the fade to summon these beings. The bow in her hand never felt so heavy as she raised it, her biceps strained as she pulled the string back over, and over. Quentin was not afforded the time to react, arrows piercing his form and turning him into a pin cushion; stapled him to the dirt wall to bleed out. Varric, Fenris, and Merrill easily took care of the rest. Mostly Merrill. Her arm bled freely on the stone as she tore the veil and shoved the demons back through; her eyes wet with tears. Leandra was a mother to more than just Hawke, and Merrill would have her revenge as well. 

The finely carved, oaken bow clattered loudly to the ground as Hawke ran to the the thing that was not her mother. Her arms caught it just as the being began to collapse. Hawke didn't need an explanation, with Quentin dead, Leandra would quickly fade. A flame with no fuel. Mother's hands were already cold as the grabbed onto Hawke, and the rogue almost pulled away before falling to the ground with her; craddled her as Leandra had done for her. It sounded like mother, a sweet song-like voice that could soothe any nightmare or cur the worst behaviour. "I knew you would come."

She said it as though she wasn't dying. That now that Hawke was here, nothing bad was going to happen; Hawke could fix anything. Right? This time, the brunette shook her head, her body rocking back and forth the body of another that held her mother's face. Leandra smiled, the white flesh stretching unnaturally, no longer created those dimples that the Hawke children mimicked in every smile. Hawke shook her head again, blinking rapidly to stop tears from falling. If any did, Hawke doubted she could stop. "You know me mommy, I always save the day."

"Don't fret darling. That man would've kept me trapped in here. But now...I'm free." she smiled, a chilled hand stroked Hawke's cheek. A familiar feeling, one that she did when Hawke had cried from bullies. When a storm had scared her under the bed. A mother trying to comfort her child, but the hand was too cold to do anything but remind the rogue of the quickly approaching end. "I'll get to see Carver again... and your father. But you'll be here all alone."

That seemed to be what caused her the most sorrow. Whether Hawke wished to admit it or not, Leandra had lived a good, long life. Perhaps the violence of how it ends is what makes it seem to short. The only regret being that her last daughter would be here all alone. How typical of Leandra to worry about everyone else first. Stupid, selfless woman. Varric had never heard Hawke stutter before, yet her final words trembled and shook just as Quentin had earlier. "I should have w-watched over you more closely. I..I should have..."

Leandra interrupted the stumbling words, "My little girl has become so strong. I love you. You've always made me proud." Hawke began to reciprocate; to return all her love and joy that she had felt from her mother but it was too late. Leandra Amell's head went limp, rolling back and the corpse became slack to match the cold skin. Hawke's last words to her frozen on her lips. There were no tears, no hasty shaking to revive the body. Simply the dull silence that sat in a graveyard. Not the loudest bell could break the silence that was created, Hawke staring just above her mother's head and at the pinned figure behind it. 

Something snapped in Hawke then. Quentin, stuck to the wall, his blood covering the dirt and floor. Even in death he was mad, and a stupid grin frozen to his face as a death mask. With the speed learned from years of training, Hawke relinquished the body and stormed over to Quentin's body. Her fingers curled around his collar and ripped him from the wall. She swore she felt a heartbeat pump in his throat, but it was only the blood raging through her hands. With the scream only a dying animal could make Hawke took Quentin's skull and slammed it into the floor. Over and over til she felt the bone crack and give way under the force. Til her fingers became soaked in blood and brain and fluid. Quentin's grey hair ripped away, sticking to the floor, to her hands. Anything resembling the man's face disappeared into a jam-like substance as Hawke screamed and smashed. To have the death of this bastard fill the empty cavern in her. That some revenge, even this mutilation might right her injustice. When she could no longer grip the skull, Hawke rolled the body over and began ripping the multitude of arrows in the corpse out; gaping wounds left in the corpse-grey flesh. 

Somewhere behind her, Hawke heard Merrill wretch. Even the blood mage unable to stomach the smashed in maw of the dead necromancer. Just as the last arrow was wrenched free, two strong arms wrapped around Hawke's waist and picked her up and away from the body. Armoured, tan, and strong, Fenris was taller than her and easily picked Hawke off her feet. The rogue shrieked, thrashing her limbs to try and get away from her captor and back to the man who had killed her mother. "Let me go!! LET ME GO!! I will rip your ears off you shit-eating, knife ear fuck! Let go!! I have...He has too...Bring her back!!!"

Varric had never seen Hawke angry before. Thrashing in Fenris' arms like an animal, her eyes blazed with hatred as she kicked and bit into the soft flesh of the elf. Hawke had been mad before. When Isabela spilled beer on her shirt, Merrill nearly getting caught by templars. This, this was something else. Not the thing to be put in a book, but to try and forget. He wasn't sure how Fenris kept a hold on her, his arms bleeding as Hawke threw every insult she had learned at him; desperately clawing at him to try and get back to Quentin. In the same, near monotone voice, Fenris answered her cries. "He's dead Hawke! That's enough, let it be." 

"Get off me! I will TEAR HIM APART!!" Was all Fenris received. The elf shrinking down to the ground, forced Hawke to curl up as he caged her in his arms and on his lap. Merrill finally moved, her eyes full of tears as she warped the arcane weave around Hawke and caused the woman into a false sleep. For once, Fenris seemed accepting of the magic; dare say grateful now that Hawke was not set on breaking his arms to reach Quentin. The three companions looked at each other, and nodded. Varric went to find Aveline, the best person to deal with the situation. Merrill and Fenris took Hawke home. That task was easy, the rogue was limp in Fenris' arms as he lay her in the soft fabric of her bed. Only then did Merrill pull her spell away, "She'll wake naturally. Give her time."

"Anything she needs." Fenris muttered quietly, and took a chair next to her bed. He slowly undid the straps of his gauntlet and let it fall to the floor. His hands were warm, and curled around Hawke's as she slept. It was hard to pinpoint when, but Hawke began to cry in her sleep. Quiet tears that fell down her cheeks, only accompanied by a soft whimper. Hours past, Fenris fell asleep in that chair with his hand still in hers. It was a sweet thing for Varric to come upon, even with the heavy news. Fenris snapped awake as the dwarf arrived, and Varric held up his hands. One holding a very nice bottle of whiskey. "Just me. I brought gifts." 

Fenris snorted, and looked back quickly at Hawke as she stirred. The brunette rose slowly, and looked at the two. Almost immediately her knees curled into her chest, trying to evenly disperse the weight that fell on her shoulders as she woke. Quiet, whispered words that the two almost missed, "It wasn't a dream. Was it?"

Varric sighed softly, and took a seat on the bed near Hawke's feet. "I'm afraid not. Aveline's taking care of it, she's good at that." he gave a soft smile, taking Hawke's other hand. The rogue looked at the two of them, not sure what to say. How do you explain the feeling of empty? Knowing she would come home to an empty house. An empty heart. All of her past, all those memories and no one but her to remember. Empty tables, chairs. Bedrooms with messy sheets that no one would ever fix. The dust that would settle on everything now that no one disturbed it. A lack of laughter, a lack of smiles. Recipes forgotten, names lost. A family full of dimpled smiles reduced to one, weak frown. Hawke shook her head, she couldn't think of it now. It was too much. She wanted nothing more but for nothing to exist outside of this bedroom, and that her whole family was simply waiting for her on the other side. For now, that was a fantasy she would indulge and she broke the silence. "I...I don't want to talk right now. Can you two just...stay? Here, at least for a little."

"Of course."  
"As long as you need me."


End file.
